


Miss Monday

by charlietinpants



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlietinpants/pseuds/charlietinpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the six people that Tony sleeps with, and the one that he doesn't. (Pre-Afghanistan Tony)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Monday

**Author's Note:**

> please note that there is some questionable dubcon implied. also, everyone else mentioned is of age and participates willingly in the shagging of our genius millionaire playboy philanthropist. 
> 
> other warnings include: profanity, sex and complete lack of shame (on Tony's part)
> 
> this piece of work was written something like four years ago. any mistakes are my own.

**1\. Monday- the quick mindless fuck**  
  
On Monday, Tony finds himself at the Dazzler, an electronica dance club that isn’t complete without loud bone-thumping music and masses of gyrating bodies. Tony isn’t much of a fan of gyrating and grinding hips in time to banal music, but he does like the scotch that’s served, and the fact that the last girl he fucked here gave him one of the best blow-jobs he’s had in his life pretty much makes up for it.  
  
The first woman he eyes is 5’11”, blue eyes and has breasts that are struggling out of her tiny little top. She’s not wearing a bra, and when she smiles and shifts to meet his eyes, he’s pretty sure she’s not wearing underwear either. It’s a pity she’s got an adam’s apple and genitals to match.   
  
The second one is blonde and has pasted little feathers on her eyelashes. She’s standing on the dance floor wearing nothing but a silver sheath, and his first thought is about how her ankles look in her strappy heels, a bit like how Pepper’s do, but with a lot less foreplay.   
  
Definitely fuck-me heels.  
  
Tony doesn’t bother to slink over and try to dance, not because he’s a terrible dancer (which he pretty much is), but because girls like her don’t just go to clubs to dance and drink, but for a different purpose all together.   
  
In a minute, he’s got her into the dirty, stodgy bathroom, and her skirt is off before they’ve even entered the cubicle. In thirty seconds, he’s inside her, pinning her against the stall wall, and they’re pushing and pulling and pawing at each other like cats in heat. In fifteen, it’s over, and he leaves her in the dirty toilet, panting and covered in dirt, come and god knows what else.   
  
 **2\. Tuesday- the faceless socialite(s)**  
  
On Tuesday, Tony attends the charity benefit for Orphaned Children in Asia, an event that Pepper has forced him into going under threat of blackmail and death by tedium. The function is swarming with middle-aged men and women, and the childish part of him is sulking because Pepper isn’t there to suffer with him.   
  
Pepper and revenge are quickly forgotten when the host introduces the ladies, and he’s back to his usual charming, roguish self, and within five minutes of the conversation, Tony’s pretty sure Pepper will have lingerie to pick off the floor and trash to take out in the morning.   
  
By eleven, most of the socialites have drifted on to wealthier, older men, leaving just two girls who are obviously sloshed from too many daiquiris dangling off the crook of his arm. By eleven thirty-three, the blonde’s got her hands on his dick, while the brunette is pretty intent on licking out the inner shell of his ear. Tony doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they’re probably some uppity big-shot’s baby girls. All that matters is the here and now, and tonight he’s got two pliant girls in his grasp.   
  
Tony knows he won’t remember their faces in the morning.   
  
At twelve-oh-eight, Tony gets Happy to drive the three of them back to the mansion. When Happy finally stops and opens the car door, Tony’s fingers are covered in release and both women are in various states of undress and sexual stupor.   
  
Tony’s forgotten their names already.   
  
Tony fucks them in the guest room, nipping and grabbing and thrusting in random fashion. They both come, simultaneously, with his fingers on their clits, pressing against him like it’s their one thing between life and death. At one-twenty nine, Tony treads quietly out of the room after they fall asleep, heading down to the basement to tinker with his robots.   
  
 **3\. Wednesday- the virgin (in some ways more than others)**  
  
On Wednesday, Tony is left alone, at home. Pepper has left for her apartment in downtown L.A and Obie’s off somewhere in Guatemala or Guinea or something, so Tony decides to have a quiet night at home with a date with General Tso.   
  
When Jarvis lets the delivery in, Tony is surprised to see the lack of adolescent pimples and bad breath on the delivery boy- actually, girl who cheerfully hands him his chow mein and chicken chunks with a smile on her face. Angela is eighteen and looks like a fucking model, so Tony doesn’t think with his brain, just with his dick and actually flirts with her, nevermind the fact that she’s not even old enough for college.   
  
With a typical teenager’s naïveté, she actually agrees when he invites her in, ooh-ing and aah-ing in all the right places when he shows her his toys; from Butterfingers to Dummy to the semi-automated robot that does his coffee in the morning.   
  
Amy (or is it Andrea, he can’t remember), he discovers, is waiting for entrance into Columbia pre-med, and works because she can’t quite afford the college tuition. He discovers that she uses his topless picture from the cover story of Cosmo as her P.C. wallpaper and thinks Pepper’s job is the ‘coolest ever’. He also discovers that her breasts are somewhere between a B and a C-cup and the skin under her shirt is a dusky pink.   
  
He takes her on the top of his baby grand piano, her back pressed against glossy wood and her tanned legs dangling down in defiant contrast with the black and white keys. He’s surprised when he meets resistance at the gates, and even more surprised when she kisses him harder and forces his hand against her ass, pressing his fingers against the ring of muscles that prevents entry and past it. When she comes, it’s with her legs on his shoulders and three fingers in her ass, and by then, he’s no longer shocked by anything eighteen-year old virgins can and want to do.  
  
When she leaves, he wonders who’s the one really using whom.   
  
 **4\. Thursday- the drunken shag (a.k.a. the mistake)**  
  
On Thursday (accurately, it’s 3.a.m. in the morning on Friday), Tony wakes up tired, hung-over and sore in all the wrong places. He’s trussed up like a chicken ready for the spit, completely naked, and when he looks down at his chest, he can see bruises mingling with little cuts, nasty buggers that look a bit larger than average paper cut. His groin stings and on closing inspection, is covered in chilli flakes.   
  
There’s a dark shape sprawled on the floor, and he can’t tell if it’s a male or female, because honestly, sometimes things do happen. Tony hopes it’s just a really tall chick with broad shoulders and an ass fetish.   
  
When Pepper arrives in the morning, she doesn’t say a single word to him as she lets out his guest and calls for Happy to come untie him from the bedposts.   
  
It’s like that the whole day, and Tony wonders if Pepper is upset.   
  
 **5\. Friday- the not-quite movie star**  
  
On Friday, Tony goes to watch a movie. Technically, it’s actually the movie premiere of some up-and-coming director, with relative unknowns as the leads and an arty-farty plot that Tony thinks will bore him to death- until it gets to the sex part. The fact that it can be classified as an art-house film is clearly questionable when the two mains start fucking like rabbits- it’s practically pornographic. Tony spends the next forty-five minutes shifting uncomfortably in his seat.   
  
When the movie ends, the cinema gives the director a standing ovation for ‘clear artistic talent’ and Tony just wants to laugh and ask the guy how many times a day he watches porn and wanks.   
  
What. Tony’s just that kind of guy.   
  
Tony sits on the plush red seats and waits for the viewing theatre to clear of all the business moguls and movie stars, waits even as the staff stare at him dubiously and wonder whether chasing Tony Stark away is like asking to be drawn and quartered.  
  
Someone sidles into the seat next to him, and he smells perfume, musky and maybe a little pungent linger in the air around his face. “Tony Stark.” The actress purrs into his ear, and up close, she doesn’t look as gorgeous as she did on the silver screen. For one, her breasts are significantly smaller. Tony wonders if there’s a mathematical formula to calculate the distance between her eyebrows. It’s startling.   
  
Not that he can slip out of this, after arranging for a one-on-one meeting with her personal assistant. No matter. He’ll just have to have her with his eyes closed.   
  
Tony just smiles and attempts to utilize the infamous (deadly) Stark charm, and she giggles like a schoolgirl. This one’s an easy conquest, and he’s already starting to get bored. He nearly rolls his eyes. Oh for the love of God.   
  
With a look to the theatre staff, they disappear, and then she’s running her hands along his forearm and up his shirt and all over and oh- fucking hell.  
  
Today’s preference is cowboy and she bucks on his hips, sliding along the length of him. It’s good that way, because he can’t bear to look at her face, just at her tits (which are decent, and that’s fine with him). She acts like an ex-porn star, moaning like she’d fuck almost anything, and so while he’s having her, his mind’s running through the formulas of his newest pet project, and wondering whether he can get the thing to explode to produce more exploding things. Hm. Technically, anything would be better than listening to her.   
  
He finishes fast with a thought about black see-through lingerie and fiery red hair, and cleans himself off, even before she’s done and preparing for a round two.   
  
He leaves.   
  
Tony wonders why he thinks of red hair, and he decides that the next time he can, he wants a red head.  
  
 **6\. Saturday- the temp**  
  
On Saturday, Tony is almost horrified when Pepper doesn’t turn up for work. Tony is surprised that Pepper’s capable of succumbing to illness, considering that he’s never seen Pepper with the sniffles or even red-eye.   
  
Tony’s convinced Pepper’s secretly an android in disguise. It’s the only possible reason she can roll her eyes when he flirting with her. God. Any other woman would have jumped him already.   
  
Not that Tony is upset that Pepper hasn’t shown any inclination to fucking him. Pepper is just - different. Pepper is fire and spice and a bit like a Chinese firecracker, like rosemary, honey and sprigs of parsley, with just a touch of lemon. Pepper is a person, an honest-to-God human being that’s complex and functional and just so real that Tony doesn’t quite know what to do with her sometimes.   
  
The thing is, Pepper has a brain and actually uses it. But Pepper has breasts and fucking nice legs that look gorgeous in pencil skirts. So Tony pushes the boundaries, just to see how far she’ll go, and maybe one day she’ll let him pass.  
  
Tony is so sure that if Pepper knew what he was thinking, she’d impale him with those five-inch heels she loves to wear.   
  
Ooh. Kinky.   
  
Anyway. The temp that Pepper sends to his doorstep is auburn-haired and dressed so unprofessionally that he’s surprised Pepper would let her within five metres of him. His eyes linger on the expanse of naked thigh below, and the grin he flashes her is bordering on salacious. Tony is still very much surprised when her only response is to walk in without a word and kiss the hell out of him.   
  
Tony doesn’t learn anything about her; not her name, not her age, just the look of her naked body and the sight of auburn hair tumbling off his sheets. Tony fucks her once because she’s willing and female, twice because she’s good and a third time because she looks like Pepper.   
  
On the third round, she goes down on him and it’s the thought of Pepper’s skin, milky white and perfect, pressed against his knees and the rosebud of her lips, swollen from kissing that makes him come into a small eager mouth that isn’t hers. It’s because it’s so wrong that he fucks her a fourth time against the carpet, but in the end, Tony isn’t able to chase the thoughts of Pepper out of the active recesses of his brain.   
  
When Pepper comes back to work, a bit snuffly but not much worse for the wear, Tony tells her never to hire a temp again.   
  
 **7\. Sunday- the one that he doesn’t**  
  
On Sunday, Tony spends the afternoon with Pepper doing business-type things. To Tony, Sunday is ‘Pepper-day’, and by the Tony Stark code of honour, under the rules of ‘never sleep with the same girl twice’ and ‘brilliance allows for one to act like a complete bastard’ comes the rule where no other woman except his charming assistant steps into his domain on the Sabbath. Tony doesn’t subscribe to religion but he does subscribe to the rules of Virginia Potts. Especially when said woman can sell your company secrets for a quarter of a billion dollars.   
  
Pepper’s sitting on his sofa with trusty blackberry in hand and there’s a pile of documents sitting next to her that’s screaming at him to be read. Tony much prefers the view on the left though. Pepper’s wearing a black top and skirt (as usual) and Tony likes to fantasize about what type of lingerie Virginia Potts wears underneath her prim and professional façade.   
  
He’s betting on crotch-less panties.  
  
Sadly, Pepper distracts him with wads of paper all demanding for his signature. This is what he does: Tony sits and signs without protest, flips through a couple and gets bored, because honestly it’s fucking company procedure that he doesn’t give a damn about, and just watches her as she works.   
  
Tony doesn’t lean forward and press his lips against her neck; doesn’t run his hand through the fiery strands and tease her about split-ends; doesn’t kiss the freckles that dot her collarbone. He doesn’t lead her to his bedroom and sink into the sheets and into her. He doesn’t kiss his way down from her cheeks to her navel and suck her till she comes. He doesn’t do a single damned thing.   
  
Instead. He leans a little to the right and feels the edge of her shoulder. She compensates and shifts out of range, and he lets her. They bicker and banter and she lets him grab her wrist, if only for three and a half seconds. He tries to press a kiss against the back of her palm, like the old fogies do, and she bats his hand away, but her eyes are smiling so he smiles too.   
  
One day he’ll tell her he loves her, but today’s not the day, and until then all the miss Mondays and Tuesdays will have to do.


End file.
